


Spectral Affection

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: It Will Always Just Be Me [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (but its okay he comes back), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Character's Name Spelled as Jaeger, Coming back from the dead, Cute Ending, Death from Old Age, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eremin - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Marco, Ghost! Marco, Ghosts, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Major character death - Freeform, Not Really Character Death, Old Age, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, So Married, Souled Vampire(s), Spells & Enchantments, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Marco, Vampire! Marco, Vampires, Werewolf Jean, Werewolf! Jean, Werewolves, World of Warcraft References, jeanmarco, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an intense battle with the Trio, Jean must change the way he lives if he still wants to hear Marco's voice in the midst of the night.</p><p>Or, the one where Marco is a home phone.</p><p>(Possible spoilers for my other story, The Sun's Going Down, as it was set in this universe, but this is a bit of a Bad End.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spectral Affection

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the first few lines in Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls and they will be at the beginning of the story.

_I’d give up forever to touch you_

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be_

_And I don't want to go home right now_

 

* * *

“I miss you, Love.” Marco whispered down the device, his soothing voice cracking as it shook back to Jean, who lay on a cheap, hotel couch, arm slewn over his watering eyes as if that would stop them from spilling. It was working so far anyway. “I wish you were here and not on that stupid business trip.”

 

That made him laugh, immediately opening his mouth to correct his husband like he always would when he made dumb comments like that, “Yeah, well, this ‘stupid business trip’ is what’s paying for your roof right now, Bodty Boy.”

 

He could just see the cute, button nose dusted with bronze freckles, just barely darker than the olive skin, scrunch up like it always did when he called the man that silly nickname and he heard the unhappy noise the Vampire made in the back of his throat. Jean was glad that, even if just that, sound was the thing that rang cleanly, clearly through his phone. “You haven’t called me that in years, Jean.”

 

Yeah. “I miss you.” It wasn’t an answer, but it was an explanation.

 

Silence.

 

“You doing alright without all the squirrels, baby?” It was something that kept Jean from talking about his work again. But again, it wasn’t the right thing to say either.

 

Then there was a quiet, hurt sigh, one that a parent might give before explaining that santa wasn’t real to their child. One where they were scared of the reaction they would get from their words, but all they knew about it was that it was going to be negative. Some people got screams, others got violent thrashes, others get defeated, betrayed eyes full of hope that was melting and could no longer be saved. “You know I don’t ne-”

 

Marco got none of those listed- got cut off, each and every time since the first, “Just- Just pretend?”

 

Another sigh, “Love, you know I can’t just forg-”

 

“I’m not asking you to forget! I… All I want is you to be here with me. Even if I was home and you know…”

 

“Yeah, I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

 

“You shouldn’t be. I- I’m sorry for freaking out again.” Jean murmured quietly, tugging a little at his hair, a nervous habit he had acquired a time too long ago to just drop the tick like that. “You- You’ll answer the phone next time, right? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

 

“I’m the one stuck in an object here,” Marco snorted to himself at Jean’s dependence, a rare thing that only came out in times like these, times where he was being extra mushy and caring around Marco. He liked these moments with his husband, they showed him his reasons for marrying the man, “I don’t know what _I’d_ do if you suddenly stopped calling me.”

 

There was a quiet gasp, maybe a sob, Jean didn’t know much anymore. “I-I’d _never_ -”

 

“I know, Love. You’d never stop calling until the day you die.” He was told, reminded of his promise, words. However seemingly impossible, Jean was going to make sure he kept that promise. Forget the phrases of ‘moving on’ and ‘living life’ everyone told him, _Marco was his life_. Eventually even Marco stopped telling him that this wasn’t healthy and just accepted it with open arms. Armin, however, would still send him pity glances even after half a year- he knew Jean didn’t take losing things- people, of importance very easily. Loss was less of a ‘blow’ to Jean and instead was more of a push. Off a goddamn cliff.

 

“Speaking of dying...”

 

“Marco, no.”

 

“Hear me out, Jean.” Once he was sure that Jean wouldn’t interrupt him, Marco continued. “When you’re on your deathbed and no longer able to call, I want this phone smashed.”

 

Okay, _that_ was a sob, one after another until it was shushed. “ _No_ , I can’t have someone do that. Not to you...”

 

“Why not? So I’m stuck here forever, even after you’re gone and no one to call me? Would you really want that for me? Lonely and waiting for someone who’s never going to come back?”  
  


“Marco…” Jean tried to break in, voice broken, but ignored.

 

“You _know_ I can’t call anyone.”

 

Silence once again between them, only broken by Jean’s frequent sniffles, Marco sighed, “Should I hang u-”

 

“No! I still want to talk to you…” His voice cracked and while it hurt the ghost of his lover, there was still a question, one that Jean didn’t want to answer because he knew no matter how he replied, Marco would still find a way to see right through him.

 

“Love? What time is it?”

 

Another hush fell between them and Marco tutted, “Jean… You know it’s rude not to respond to a question.”

 

And yet, he still didn’t speak a word, not even a squeak.

 

“It’s that late, huh?”

 

That broke the spell and Jean instantly spoke up to defend himself, even through interruption, “Marco, you know I only call you when it’s late-”

 

“You really need to sleep.”

 

“-d I did all of my extra work I had to take home befor-”

 

“I’m going to end the call.” It was in a strange sing song tune, distorted by the crushing words and long distance of the call.

“-ven called you, so that’s why it’s like one in the morning-” _Persistent little shit._

 

“I love you, Jean.” That killed the doggedness of Jean’s avoidance to the topic of hanging up. Sometimes the day felt so much longer when he knew that it wasn’t his love’s arms he would be curling up in at night, but cold, scratchy, unwashed sheets. A voice from an old, haunted home phone was all he had left of his old life, the one he left after the accident. Still, Jean considered himself lucky that he had that at least a voice, someone to listen to him like always.

 

“I love you, baby.” He was quiet in his defeat.

 

After a ‘kissie’ noise, Marco told him to sleep well and a click defined the end of the call and their conversation. Despite wanting to throw his phone across the room, Jean was a responsible adult and plugged it into an outlet to charge, walking across the small living space and collapsing onto the ratty bed. All he bothered to do was strip to his boxers, tossing everything to the floor. Not even crawling under the covers, Jean stared at the ceiling he had been under for the past two weeks and relived the night he’d been thinking about for months now.

 

* * *

_“Ow, ow, ow, Jean-” He was cut off by his own coughing, red liquid spluttering over his hand and dripping from his lips, a darkened tongue reaching out to swipe it back inside, adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed it back down. Jean would be lying if he said he tried not to gag. He was far too used to the action to be sickened and revolted by it anymore. “Jean, slow down, please.”_

_“No, I can’t, I have to get you to the supplies or you’re gonna bleed out, but you’re not going to, you’re going to be okay. You’ll be fine, Love.” If Marco noticed that Jean was mostly saying this for himself than the Vampire’s benefit, he didn’t comment- though it was already hard to speak since most of his blood was leaving his body through his mouth, a long, deep slit in his throat, and the large, gaping hole in his gut. Maybe if he said it often enough, it would be true._

_“What? You’re just gonna- shit,” he coughed again, this one forcing out noticeably more amounts of crimson. “Gah, that one hurt more than the others.”_

_Glancing worriedly at his husband, Jean pressed the bleeding side of Marco’s form closer, tighter against his stomach. “Sh, Marco, stop talking, you’re going to hurt yourself.”_

_“Been there, did that.” Marco chuckled, the sound anything but dry, and wiggled a little against Jean, smearing blood all over his shirt. Jean winced at the action, cringing again when he felt what seemed to be an organ rub up against him through his blood and sweat soaked clothing. It was something slimy at least, but it certainly wasn’t just skin. “Marco stop.”_

_“How do you plan on saving me?” the weaker of the two asked with a hint of amusement in his tone, “Using the whole roll of bandages to fix me up until the sun goes down and you can take me to a hospital?”_

_“Uh,” Jean started. He really didn’t know how he was going to do this. He couldn’t just sew Marco back up, but just wrapping him up in cotton wouldn’t do either…_

_But they weren’t really his plans to begin with._

_He knew Marco wasn’t going to make it, but ever since he had read something about preserving a soul, Jean had been carrying a few special items with him. They were kept around the house, but Marco never really acknowledged them. They were in his supply bag at all times, especially out on expeditions like this one._ Especially _on ones with the Trio._

_The Trio, as it says in their name, were three Vampires who controlled most of the shady parts of the city and went about torturing humans in the most horrible of ways. They wouldn’t Turn any of them, but instead take random, innocent people and ‘play’ with them until they were on the verge of death, then they would Feed off of them, making sure they were conscious until the very end. They never worked with anyone else except for one werewolf who the team had never found the name of. It wasn’t until recently that they found out where the Trio was currently staying and once everything was set, they attacked. Even if they outnumbered the Trio, most of them were killed or hurt, including Marco._

_But they won in the end, killing one of the insufferable creatures, capturing the other two._

_This was however, the reason why Marco wasn’t going to make it._

_During the fight, the girl, Jean was told her name was Annie, had continuously went after Marco after seeing most of the group twitch when the tallest of the Trio slugged him across the face. Jean could swear he saw her eyes glint when they landed on him, grinning just a little before she flipped, using the beam above her, to shank Marco in the side from behind. She had turned, just in time to see him freeze, amber eyes widening when she raised the knife to plunge again. His instincts had kicked in by then and he pushed Marco out of the way to avoid most of the attack. Once Marco was left to the side, Jean had grappled with Annie, despite yells being through at him to stop, to let_ Eren _go after her._

_He didn’t listen._

_And with quick enough reflexes, he had taken her knife and stabbed her in the heart, the force making her pause, then using it to forcefully decapitate her, blonde hair swishing out of that ugly bun and falling to the floor, just like Jean when it was finally done, covered in the blood that had splattered all over his face and collar when he had separated her head from her neck. The other two gave up quickly enough after that, the one that had punched Marco growing pale at the sight of a crumbling comrade._

_Jean laughed. He laughed and laughed and_ laughed _. Soon enough, however, he remembered the body that_ wasn’t _just gold dust anymore and with wobbly knees, rushed over, and picked said body up.  Ignoring everyone else around him, the people celebrating the capture, the people taking the fiends to their new ‘homes’, the people helping with the wounded, Jean rushed him back to the jeeps and the mismatched cars, back to his own._

_Once Marco was settled in the back, he shuffled around the bag until he found what he was looking for, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear the coughing that sounded more liquidy than before. He took the clear orb and printed paper and set them beside Marco, who was trying to sit up and ask him what he was doing._

_Shaking his head, Jean pressed his finger to bloodied and cracked lips, not even caring that his voice jumped when he spoke, or that there were tears down his cheeks, clearing away dirt and blood and sweat. He didn't care that there would be stains in his seats or that he’d never get gold dust out of the floorboards. He didn’t even try to pretend this was a dream, because if it was then it would mean he’d only have to live through it again, suffer all over. “I love you, baby, and I’m just going to do this so I can keep you safe.”_

_“You know I’m going to die, don’t you?” Marco asked gently, without a tease or joke in his voice, seriousness finally._

_Nodding, Jean leaned down to kiss him, paying no mind to the blood on those thick, pale lips. Even if he knew it probably drained his energy, Jean didn’t stop Marco’s hand from coming up to cup the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. They could taste blood on each other, animal and other people’s, but they held not a care in the world and shifted against those uncomfortable car seats, melding into one, just like their mouths. Every time they would separate to allow Jean to breathe, there would be whispers and pants (from the werewolf’s mouth) of ‘I love you’ and ‘I’ll miss you so fucking much’. He let Marco dominate his mouth because every time he would dip his own between the lips he loved so much, he would be too overwhelmed with the taste of iron._

_They stopped when Marco pulled away to cough, spewing blood onto Jean’s face, reminding them that one of them was dying soon, dying because that wound on Marco’s neck wouldn’t heal, so neither would anything else, and if they gave him more blood, it would just spill out again. Though he apologized profusely for splattering his love with the fluid, Jean just laughed, happy to spend this time in the arms of the man he loved most. Even if it was short and they had to stop so Jean could do what he wanted to do quickly enough._

_“I love you.” He whispered, taking the orb into his hand, the paper in his other, “Sleep well, Love.”_

_As he read off the Latin words, trying desperately not to get blood on it and say the spell wrong, he tuned into the hand on his back, rubbing slow circles to sooth him. After he finished, Jean closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the man below him, holding them there until he crumbled away with the bright, golden glow that was soon sucked into the orb, warming his hand._

_And when all was done, he finally gave in and sobbed._

 

* * *

 

_“Hey, I know this is kind of out of the blue and you’re still nursing your wounds, but I have a spell I need help on, could I come over later tonight?” Jean asked, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt, eyes constantly glancing at a sphere at the end of his bedside table._

_“Yeah, sure. What’s it about?” Was the soft reply, voice a little muffled and different since it was through a phone and Jean was pretty sure he was also cooking._

_“Oh, uh, um…”_

_“What is it, Jean?”_

_“S-Soul transferring…” The words were thick and hard to get out in fear of rejection of the offer._

_There was silence and a deep outtake of air, “Oh, Jean, no, don’t tel-”_

_“‘Kay, thanks. I’ll see you then. Tell Eren he needs to work on his shitty kicking skills or whatever he claims them to be.” And he hung up. The less he had to talk about it, the better._

 

* * *

 

_“Hey, Armin, thanks for helping me,” Jean started as he walked in, not even three hours later, a small box in hand, “Here’s the orb, by the way. Didn’t you say the color is important, too, or something?”_

_“No.” Armin spoke, eyebrows raised and tucked against the bandages against his head, “I said it’s important you have the orb and the object you’re transferring the soul to, then you started rambling about how the orb looked just like Marco’s eyes.”_

_Having already settled onto his friend’s couch while he was speaking and opened the black, square box, retrieving the orb, Jean blushed brightly, scratching at the back of his neck. “Oh, sorry… But it does, you know, if you look at it.”_

_The short blonde did look at it, bending over and picking it up to do so. Its once clear, see through figure had turned brown, darker in the top corner and mellowing into a honey gold towards the bottom, air pockets filling the contents, like bubbles. “Well, you’re not wrong. It does kind of look like his eyes.”_

_Agreeing with a nod, Jean smacked his hands together, rubbing them to prepare himself for what was going to happen next, “So, how are we going to do this?”_

_“Well, we have the orb,” Armin raised his left hand, the one that held the glowing object, “The item we are transferring the soul to,” he pointed to the black, kind of old, corded home phone that was sitting on the middle of the table- it hadn’t taken much convincing to let Jean have it- “The paper scripts,” he nodded to the folded, yellow papers sitting beside the phone, “And of course-” and Jean stopped listening when he started naming off herbs that seemed impossible to pronounce. They were sitting peacefully in a small, marble bowl, already mixed, on the opposite side of the phone, a pocket lighter and a bag of strangely colored sand next to the bowl. “So, all you need to do is hold the paper up for me so I can read it. Eren is grabbing the animal bones and incense right now. He already knows when to toss in the sand, so you don’t have to bother with that. And,” Armin gave him a steady look, one that if anyone else had given him would be a glare, “If my position moves or the circle is broken, Marco’s soul will be lost, do you hear me? It’ll just dissipate and you will never hear of him again, not even in the afterlife, not in other cycles of life.”_

_It was a little shocking to take in, a stun as if he was whacked in the back of the head, but Jean understood, voicing so as Eren came in, holding several long sticks and a small tub. “You guys keep your magic animal bones in a plastic container?”_

_Rolling his eyes, Eren began to set up the Sacred Circle on the extra space of the table, spreading the animal bones into four piles. “Shut up, fur for brains. It’s a safe placement for them and we always know where they’re at.”_

_Shrugging, Jean watched as Armin kneeled before the dark wood of the table, placing his hands moving the phone and the orb within hand’s reach. Eren continued to get everything ready, taking half of the sand out of the bag and splaying it out, creating the Circle, lighting four of the incense sticks and placing them in little stands inside the circle, one at the top, another at the bottom, a third in the left side, and the last one in the right. Lastly, he put the bowl of plants in the center, lighting it on fire and filling the room with the smell of burning grass, gross, and then sprinkled a third of the remaining sand in, careful not to put it out. “Done.”_

_After watching Eren with all of that, Jean picked up the paper and shuffled beside Armin as he placed his hands on the phone and the orb, his left and right, told respectfully. Eren already had another third of the sand in his hand, ready to use. And with an intake of breath, Armin started._

_To put it bluntly, it was really weird. Jean had seen Armin use magic before- hell, he’d seen magic use_ Armin _before- so he knew about how Armin’s posture would suddenly fix itself, how his eyes would become incredibly focused, how his voice would deepen to this scary tone that Jean could only describe as ‘from the depths of hell itself’, he had heard him speak Latin._

_But when the fifth or sixth line was spoken and Eren chucked the sand into the fire, it roaring up, Jean might of squeaked. Magic shit like that hadn’t happened before, not when Jean was around anyway. Eren grinned at him over the flame that was quickly changing colors, bright blue to dark green, pastel purple to bland yellow. It was the eighth line that the sand started to glow brightly, and even Armin smiled, just barely, at that. Jean was mildly surprised that the incense didn’t do anything and that the animal bones didn’t start to dance, but nothing else happened until the end._

_When Armin spoke that last, final line, Eren doused the fire with the rest of the sand, the fire going out instantly, the orb cracked at the top, a ragged line from the middle of one side to the other._

Cracked.

_Just like Jean’s heart when after a long moment, nothing else happened._

_Tears were welling in his eyes and he was tempted to scream, but nobody had moved an inch or spoke a word. Not even Armin, who was still sitting as straight as possible, staring intently at the tabletop in front of him. Not even Eren who had an unfocused gaze at the man in front of him, staring past his blonde hairs._

_However, after a minute more, the orb started to shake, shivering under Armin’s loose grip. Jean’s mouth fell open in awe and before he knew it, there was a gold light, the same color he saw under his eyelids just days ago, melting out of the glass and swirling around in the air. Once it was briefly a foot above the boys, it shot straight down, striking Armin’s skin and lighting up his whole palm, but he did not move, did not speak out, did nothing as it slithered through his veins and deposited in the phone, which, too, shook just as the orb had once done. When everything was still, Armin jerked away from all the magical items with a sharp intake of breath and slumped forward as Jean barely noticed the crystallized sand shooting inwards towards the marble on its own accord. Eren himself twitched before he was soon rushing over, helping Armin onto the couch, leaving Jean to wonder if he was the only one that had actually seen what just happened._

_“Is he okay?” Jean asked, concerned, as he turned away from the used ingredients, worried eyes cast on the sleeping figure._

_“Yeah,” Eren panted, apparently still not back to real life yet, “He’ll be awake in a few minutes. That was just the first time we’ve done a spell like that and ever since, you know, that day, we’ve been a little more cautious with magic.”_

_Jean understood, of course, and nodded. “Do you guys need help cleaning or-”_

_“Nah.” Eren told him, brushing a fine hair out of his lover’s face, something that Jean realized with a inwardly ‘Huh’ didn’t make his heart jolt in an unappreciated manner like it would maybe years ago. “Go home, test to see if the spell worked, sleep. You look like you need it.”_

_  
Taking the phone and the orb, Jean bid him goodbye, goodnight, and left, not noticing until that night that the orb still had those bubbles in it, despite being clear now, and that the black phone was now splashed with gold speckles. Like freckles. _

 

* * *

 

 

Okay, this was the number… _Punching the numbers from the wad of paper Eren had thrown at him into his phone, Jean curiously kept glancing at the newest addition to his house, and hit call. On his phone it rang once, twice, but the device he was staring at didn’t at all, despite being plugged in- Jean had made sure._

_Halfway through the third ring, it had picked up. He hadn’t touched anything. Bringing his mobile to his ear, he slowly spoke into it, eyes on the object he was supposed to be calling, “Hello?”_

_“Jean?” That… That voice, it worked…_

_“What worked, Jean?” He must have been thinking aloud. “And where am I? I’ve never seen this place before.”_

_With a sniffle and a sleeve across his eye, Jean sat heavily on the couch, still staring at his freckled home phone, “Baby, I’ve got a lot to tell you.”_

_This number was definitely being saved into his contacts._

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Love, guess who’s home.” Jean’s voice was cheery. Even if he couldn’t see the man himself he was talking to through the phone, being near the home of the soul of said man was enough for Jean.

 

“Hm, is it the cat?” Marco teased, unable to suppress a soft chuckle after his words.

 

“Oh, I bet you wish that, don’t you? Rather listen to some devil rat thing purr into the mic than talk to me.”

 

Another laugh, louder this time, “You know me so well. Maybe I guess that means you’re enough to talk to for me.”

 

“Oh, how generous.”

 

“What was that thing everyone called me when I couldn’t kill that one Were? Freckled Saint?”

 

“Yeah, something like that. Freckled Jesus maybe.”

 

“Oh, they thought they were funny, with the irony, didn’t they?”

 

Jean cackled, opening the fridge and popping a tab of beer open. “We’re all going to hell.”

 

“Except me!” Marco had long past gotten over the fact that when he died he wouldn’t go anywhere, would just _disappear_.

 

“Yeah, except you, Love. You’ve got that special place in that goddam phone.” He retorted, walking back to the couch and plopping down on it.

 

“Very punny, Jean.”

 

Jean made a face, even if he knew Marco couldn’t see it, “Ew, Marco don’t ever use that again. It’s gross and very unoriginal.”

 

“What are you going to do if I use it again, unplug me?” Well, someone’s full of sass today, damn.

 

Jean didn’t say anything, instead taking a swig of his drink, grimacing at the taste, looking around the room idly. Sometimes the phone calls would result in this, Marco listening to Jean breathing as they sat in a comfortable silence.

 

“Punny.”

 

The word surprised him, making him jump and slosh his drink all over his shirt and part of the couch with a yelp. He heard snickering and still had the urge to hit the back of a ravenette’s head. _Old habits die hard, yeah?_ “Not funny, Marco, I spilled my beer, you ass.”

 

“I dunno, it was pretty funny hearing you yell and you deserve it for buying that shitty ass stuff that tastes like cat piss.” Freckled Jesus was a _lie_.

 

“How’d you know I bought that kind?”

 

There was sigh and Jean could see burnt whiskey eyes rolling in their sockets, “I was married to you, doofus.”

 

Another sip, “Do people even use that word anymore?”

 

A hum instead of a response, a blanket of quiet gently fallen over them, containing Jean’s sipping and throaty breathing. It gave time for Jean to daydream as he usually did during times like these. He thought back to moments when he would ask Marco what it was like for him, how his husband would only avoid the question until one he blurted that he wasn’t _allowed_ to tell Jean what it was like and that was that. He had stopped asking, but he never stopped wondering.

 

Marco once again was the one who spoke first. It was usually him, anyway. In a happy-go-lucky voice, he relayed something he had heard when Jean had turned on the radio for him, “ _I’d give up forever to touch you…_ ”

 

Instantly knowing what to sing back, Jean did just so, in the same tone and tune his love was singing in, “ _‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow…_ ”

 

They continued to sing like that back and forth until the stickiness of Jean’s shirt was too much to bear and Marco had heard him yawn one too many times, forcing him to say his goodbyes and wouldn’t allow him to call back, no matter how 'awake' he claimed to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There finally came a day when Marco wouldn’t answer his calls, which scared Jean. Marco didn’t need to sleep or do anything else, so he wasn’t ‘busy’ or anything. He tried to call again, but again, he didn’t get picked up. Was it something he said? He always teases Marco and Marco always teases back… It couldn’t been that he had called him an ass, could it? He’s done it before… Hell, Marco’s called him that and worse on numerous occasions. Maybe he had accidentally shifted something and unplugged the cord that morning. Jean was almost home anyway, so he could check it out then.

 

What he found sitting on the couch when he opened the damn door, however, was a surprise. Or, who, really.

 

Well, it fucking wasn’t Armin.

 

“Marco? Is that you?” Was the first thing he could think to say and he was shuffling over, dropping his work bag on the floor beside the coffee table and stopping in front of the now standing male.

 

Marco himself glanced down as if he didn't’ believe it himself. As far as he knew, he was really in Connie’s body or something. “H-Hey… I think it is…”

 

There were still for what felt like hours, staring at each other, but Jean, for the first time, made the first move, and reached blindly forward. To his dismay, Marco had quickly stepped back before he could make contact. It was obvious how the action had affected him and he didn’t bother to cover the emotion of betrayal and hurt on his face. He didn’t try to move again.

 

“No, wait, I- I think it has to be me. I just _feel_ it, you know?” The freckled man’s voice was timid, small, something that was rare, something Jean didn’t like seeing, it made him feel too overpowering. This was supposed to be an equal relationship.

 

“Yeah,” was his breath of a reply, “Okay.”

 

Stepping forward, Marco slowly took him in a hug, squeezing him tight enough to stop Jean’s breathing just for a moment, limp arms at his sides, grinning to because _this was actually happening_ , after seven months. Seven months of missing this, wanting something he thought he had lost forever. With his right arms still looped around Jean’s waist, he used his left to cup Jean’s face, Jean doing the same to the left side of Marco’s own.

 

“I missed your touch.” Marco whispered, leaning into the palm, tears in his eyes that stared straight at Jean’s quivering own.

 

“I missed your smell.” Jean murmured back, closing his eyes to take in a deep breath as Marco gave a laugh.

 

“I missed your smile…” Marco bit his lip, eyes dipping to Jean’s mouth and hovering there before twisting around his body.

 

“I missed your freckles,” Jean spoke softly, thumb sliding against Marco’s cheekbone, tracing the dots here and there.

 

“‘Course you did.” Marco giggled quietly, breaking the chain, but moving quick enough to repair, “But I think I missed your kiss the most.”

 

When he leaned to move forward, hand falling off of Jean’s face for just a few seconds, he stopped, pausing, when it only slid through his skin instead, transparent.

 

“What-”

 

Noticing his hesitation, Jean pulled away as well, only to watch in mortifying horror as the brown skin on Marco’s face became translucent, see through, and only a thin, bleached version of what it used to be, aside from the freckles that still scattered, visible as ever. He saw that his whole left arm and half of his face was like that, an opalescent form of what once was and used to be.

 

In short, Jean screamed.

 

By the time they had it all sorted out, understanding that pulling away from each other takes away Marco’s solidity, Marco only had most of his right arm- seeing that he had successfully attempted a make out session on the couch to calm Jean down. They had got tangled up in each other and in the end, when they had pulled away, only Marco’s arm around his waist, everything was crystal.

 

That was the moment that Jean, cheekily, pointed out that his skin looked like the night sky, his freckles the stars, and that he could make up constellations on them. Marco agreed, saying he looked like the ‘star pony thing mount on world of warcraft’.

 

“You mean the Celestial Steed?” Jean asked with an amused look, raised eyebrows flying past what looked to Marco as his hairline. Marco nodded, glad that Jean, like always, knew what he thinking about and what he was meaning, “You fuckin’ dork. I bought you that thing and you can’t even remember the name of it?”

 

“I do!” Marco tried to defend himself, eyes lighting up like they did whenever they talked about things that he was really passionate about. Of course. Only Marco would get super passionate about his 25$ cyber horse. “His name is Charlie!”

 

“Dude,” Jean laughed, barely able to get the word out, “Charlie is a unicorn, not a pegasus.”

 

“Shut up and don’t ruin it, Jean!” Marco giggled, the cute sound no longer distorted like it always was on the phone. Jean forgot how much he missed it. “Charlie is just a name!”

 

“Yeah, okay. If you say so.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ever since they found out that separating from each other is what caused Marco’s ghost-like form, they’ve been keeping contact with each other every second of the day. Most of the time they would hold hands, but other times Marco would wiggle out of his grip, sliding his still solid hand and run it up Jean’s arm, to skim his lips, to cup his cheek, to fluff up his hair. Though, for some reason, they could still converse, even if they couldn’t touch each other anywhere else. It was enough for them.

 

Marco never tried to convince Jean to go out with other people, to try and live a full life without him. It could be that it was going to be hard to cover up what happens every full moon, or what half of the hidden things in his house were for- since they _definitely_ weren’t for cooking- and all the strange, demonic books he still held onto, despite no longer being one of the team. It also could have been that Marco just wanted Jean to himself, to pretend he was curling up against in the night, to talk to and argue over shows with, to be with. That thought was Jean’s favorite. Still, it could have even been that since Marco knew he wouldn’t do it when Marco was stuck in the phone, that he wouldn’t do it when he had more than just a voice, more of Marco, just- more.

 

Who cared if it wasn’t society’s idea of ‘healthy’ and ‘perfect’?

 

They were happy with each other and that’s all that mattered.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t long before they also learned something else about Marco and his spectral sight. It came as a surprise to both of them, but after thinking it over, it kind of made sense, in a way.

 

“Hey, Armin, you’ll never guess what happened.” Jean commented with a light smile, squeezing Marco’s hand and trailing his thumb over his knuckles.

 

“What is it? Did you get a promotion?” Armin, always looking at the brighter side of things when they didn’t relate to himself directly.

 

Jean laughed at that, the thought of work having been so far out of mind with this newest discovery of his ghostly husband in his living room. “No, no. You should come over, bring Eren, it’s something you need to see. It’s about Marco.”

 

Even if Jean sounded happy, Armin still was wary. Anything to do with Marco was always a fragile topic around the two-toned guy. “Alright. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Eren has to find his pants.”

 

“Of course he does.”

 

When Armin hung up, a nervous ‘goodbye’ along with the _click_ , Jean got to picking up around the house, even if he knew the other boys wouldn’t care what his apartment looked like. Marco slid his hand around to Jean’s back, as if he was standing there, guiding him around. It made Jean feel safe and he smiled more brightly, looking up from organizing the decorative magazines on the counter to see the expression of his lover, who smiled just as happily back when he saw how cheerful Jean was. It was almost like Jean was more excited than Marco for Marco to be seeing his old friends again.

 

Ten minutes went by quickly, just as time did when the two boys were around each other, a true sign of their never ending love. There was a knock on the door and Jean was quick to getting it, practically ripping it off its hinges in an attempt to get it open fast enough. Eren and Armin watched curiously and walked inside, not noticing the tense pose Jean immediately acquired when Armin’s hand brushed straight through Marco’s hip without even acknowledging the action. “They can’t see you…”

 

“What?” Armin asked, turning around to stare intently at Jean as he shut the door and slumped against it. Even Eren, who had settled onto one of the arm chairs, looked up with confusion.

 

Raising the hand that held Marco’s tightly, Jean tilted his head to the side to gauge their reactions, “Uhm, you guys can’t see Marco?”

 

Marco’s expression fell, darkening when Eren shook his head slowly, Armin’s eyes widening as he gently spoke, “Jean, you said the soul transfer worked…”

 

“It did.” He said quietly, “But he’s out now, somehow, do you guys seriously not see him? Like, he’s right here!” He shook the hand holding Marco’s back and forth wildly, until Marco told him to stop.

 

“Jean, I think you need to take a break. Work’s been stressing you out lately, right?” Armin suggested, attempting to walk forward and clasp his hand with his own, looking startled when Jean jerked away.

 

“I-I’m not _crazy_ ,” Jean started, free hand clenching firmly. “Marco’s holding my hand, he’s-” he paused, an idea striking his mind. He turned to Marco and whispered lowly, “Hey, to prove you’re here, unbutton one of my shirt buttons, move my hair, something.”

 

The other two watched in suspicion as Jean visibly let go of whatever he was holding so rigidly, and when he had to fight against a bubbling laugh when his lip jut out, like it was being pulled, farther than what someone could do on their own. They observed Jean’s hair moving like someone was giving him a noogie, remembering that Jean didn’t ever use his AC. He was laughing, he was delighted, just like when Marco was still alive.

 

“Well, I'll be damned.” Eren muttered behind Armin, who was still doubting, “So, can you see him, Jean?”

 

“Very much so.” The host tried to say, voice a little muffled since an unknown- to the guests that is- pulled on his flushed from laughing cheeks.

 

It was when Jean’s pants began to mysteriously unbutton themselves and with wide eyes, Jean had to grab the air to stop its attacks that Armin finally cracked an uneasy smile. “You look so happy, Jean.”

 

Pausing at that, the man looked to the left, seemingly making eye contact at the wall, and grinned. “You should see Marco’s smile.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When they were together, Jean and Marco used to go on lots of dates, most of which consisted of walking around together. It was free, they got to spend the day together, and show the world, ‘Fuck yeah, we’re a thing!’. So, it wasn’t strange that a week later they went for a stroll around the mall, ignoring the stares the living of the two was getting.

 

No matter how much Jean tried to ignore it, his acute hearing caught a lot about himself.

 

_“Who’s he smiling at?”_

_“He looks so lonely- but so, so happy.”_

_“I wish I could be that confident about being single.”_

_“Look, Mommy! That man’s holding a ghost’s hand!”_

 

Confused, Jean looked around to see who said that, noticing a short woman with a ponytail and her daughter who held the same tree bark bangs. She straightened up, brightening when they looked in her direction. When Marco waved, a curt action, she waved back, much more enthusiastically. Her mother nervously ushered her away after that, but the exchange lightened up the rest of their day.

 

“So it is true! That little kids can see ghosts?”

 

A laugh. “I never saw one, but I guess if your parents never smash it out of your system, imagination always helps lift the veil between the two worlds.”  
  
“You’re such a nerd, Jean.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s said that people mellow out with age, become nicer, stop fighting as much. That’s why Grandmas are always known for their cookies and hugs, different from their granddaughters who are screaming at that one boy in class to stop being such a smartass. Others say that it’s when a person finds love, that they’ll be so immersed in that that they hold themselves together, whether it’s not to disappoint that person, or look better to become their view.

 

Jean never stopped being an ass, no matter who he was in love with. Everyone just thought it was part of his personality. He was still rude over the years, still telling people that they’re wrong and why they’re wrong in some of the meanest ways he could. Nobody really was offended anymore, but it was still annoying.

 

However, people had noticed he was kinder now, he was holding back from fights and learning to speak in more polite tones. He was making better decisions. He was going higher up the corporate ladder. When he was out with people he was a lot more eloquent.

 

Everyone kept asking why, what had changed, giving their own theories behind his back, but there was only one person who understood what had happened.

 

Recently, Jean had gotten a bit of a bird on his shoulder, so to speak, telling him to stop, say it like this, if you do that you’ll get screwed over. A hand in his to squeeze his before he stepped on the road, to watch out for cars.

 

Armin always reminded Jean to tell Marco how much he means to him.

 

* * *

 

 

Years flew by and there was never two days exactly the same when he had Marco by his side, Jean realized. He was always happy and even if he couldn’t cuddle with Marco like he would like to, Jean was never low on affections. Never did he feel underappreciated and unloved. He always wanted and had a reason to continue living. Because living meant staying with Marco and that was the most important thing in the world to him.

 

On his deathbed, will written and money ready to be dispersed, Jean didn’t have a regret over the past forty years.

 

He lay, skin baggier than he remembered, crow feet in the corners of his eyes, hair grey and combed to the side like he promised it would never be. However, it was still longer on the top, but it had to be professional in some way, right? Next to him was a man only he could see, the perfect image of anything he could ever want, not changing once in the past half a century. The man smiled, sliding his palm against his skin, with a look in his eyes that only held fondness and love.

 

“I think I’m going to miss you most of all.” Jean croaked out, knowing that his last breath was soon, probably that day even. He had already said his goodbyes to Marco, many times, but it still didn’t matter.

 

“Oh really?” Marco asked, half smile making his eyes twinkle as his form twitched.

 

“Yes, really.” Jean rolled his eyes before coughing into his arm.

 

Eyeing him amusingly, Marco tugged a little at the hospital gown, “Practically reversed roles, don’t you think?”

 

“Yeah, but you told me you’re not going to let anyone capture my soul.”

 

“I want you to go to heaven…” Marco told him, hand now in his hair, tugging weakly at the dead strands.

 

“You really think I’m getting into God’s palace after having an undead Vampire’s dick up my ass?” Jean asked, coughing again after he cackled a little too gruffly.

 

Marco grinned, shaking his head with a snicker. “You’re even gross as a dying old man.”

 

“Thanks.” He placed a hand over his heart, mock wounded.

 

There was footsteps down the hall, they could both hear it. Marco sighed. “I guess this is it. The real goodbye?”

 

“Yeah…” Jean’s face fell. He didn't want the next moment to come.

 

Fingers on Jean’s lips, kissing him because his own mouth couldn't, “I love you, and while this has been hard to keep up,” They laughed, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

 

“I’ll miss you, Love.” With those words, he pulled his hand away, keeping his eyes on Jean, who stared right back, despite the way his whole hand shimmered and disappeared, dissolving into millions of sparkles, soon with the rest of his translucent self, the last thing to leave, the final imprint in his mind, Marco’s smile. It doesn't leave him as crushed as he thought he would. Instead, he felt… Fulfilled.

 

And later that night, when he was about to fall asleep, Jean imagined he heard a honey smooth voice whisper to him, lulling him to closing his eyes.

 

_“Goodnight, Love, I’ll see you soon. Sleep well, Jean.”_

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I based that scene off of soul thing on Buffy. No, I didn't make it exactly like it, because one, that's not what's happening to Marco. Two, this isn't a Buffy the Vampire Slayer story. Three, Marco is not getting cursed, at all. That's not it.
> 
> Special thanks to my editor who doesn't actually edit, but tells me 'ohhh sap sap sap'. I love you! (She actually helps with telling me if certain parts fit here and there, so of course she gets to read first.)
> 
> This is self edited so if there are any grammatical mistakes, please, please, please don't hesitate to tell me!
> 
> If you have a question about something, ask away! I tend to make things quite vague, so if people don't want to think really hard about it, you can ask in the comments below, or go to my tumblr . Anon asks are turned on! This is also the place to tell me if you made fanart and what tags you used so I can go and see it.
> 
> Praise and/or thoughts on this work, as well as my others, is always appreciated because I am an egotistical loser.
> 
> If you want more of this universe, check out the series this is in, where I have a chaptered story, one that has a starting point before this.


End file.
